


Night Drive

by patron_saint_of_apricots



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, High School, Illegal Driving, M/M, POV Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Sneaking Out, Thanatos Just Wants to Touch, Thanatos has a car, The Yearning is Strong, late night drive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patron_saint_of_apricots/pseuds/patron_saint_of_apricots
Summary: Than teaches Zag to drive with a side of How Not To Drive Legally.Or how Than can drive over the speed limit and run red lights while sneaking out at night without his mother’s permission, but he can’t touch Zag without A Reason.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 94





	Night Drive

**Author's Note:**

> They’re young, they’re dumb; it’s the modern day equivalent of Than sneaking Zag out of Hades for a night. Zag is the local himbo too oblivious for his own good. Than is a touch-starved tsundere.
> 
> Sorry if it’s a bit ooc, it's my first time writing them, but they’re in high school so…enjoy!
> 
> Music Vibes: [Nightcall by Kavinsky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MV_3Dpw-BRY&ab_channel=RecordMakers) I listened to this the whole time~

Than picks up a gravel of cement chipped off the sidewalk and rolls the rough grit between his fingers. It’s late. Too late. The road is empty, the city is asleep and the streetlight above him casts his shadow on the ground in front of him, an amber and black chiaroscuro, half dead grass, half concrete.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a storm rolling in over the mountains and clouding the city under a thick and heavy blanket.

He shouldn’t be here.

Than tosses the rock up and catches it in his palm. Zag’s room is the upper-floor window on the left. The window on the right is the bathroom, on the side of the house is his father’s room, on the bottom floor is the family store. All he has to do is throw the rock; he’s already here; he’s already driven half-way across the city, but his muscles are leaden, and his hands are numb from too long spent working on his car.

The night is late, the road is empty, and if he turns back now, nobody will know but his shadow and the skid marks on the asphalt.

Than clenches his fist and squeezes the rock hard. He tips his head back and closes his eyes against the streetlight above. He sees red on the back of his lids and when he stops squeezing the rock, unfurls his fist and looks down, there’s a red impression in his rough and calloused palm. Red pain branding his skin like a scorch mark.

Than huffs. The night is cool, and his breath frosts in the air in front of him. Zag likes courage, Zag likes confidence, well how about a rock to the window on a weekday night? _Hello, it’s me. Hello, it’s Stage One. Hello, it’s boy meets boy after midnight because he is oh so head over heels in love with his first crush. It’s softly killing him from the inside out._ Three years is far too long to keep this feeling away from a spark. It’s fuel, it’s flammable, it’s wanting to ignite, to burst into the flame and devour everything he can get his hands on. So Than throws the dumb rock, his stomach soaring with the thrill as it leaves his palm. His eyes lose sight of it in the harsh contrast of shadow and light, but under the blood rushing in his ears, he hears it clink against the windowpane, a sweet little sound that makes his heart pump faster as he stands there dumbstruck, blinking at what he’s just done because he did it, he threw the rock, and now that he sees signs of movement beyond, he must deal with the consequences of that action.

Fuck.

Quickly leaning back against his car, Than rakes a hand through his hair, shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and waits.

Slowly, groggily, Zag’s awakens at stupid o’clock. He jerks his head up and blinks at his window. A stream of amber flows through the glass from the streetlight outside; it skims across his blankets and as he sits up, it glints into his eyes, illuminating his face.

Zag raises his hand to shade his view then stumbles to the window. As he rubs the sleep from his eyes, Than can tell the exact moment he sees his car, sees her black hood, her matte rims, an AE86 Trueno: lightweight, high power, easily modifiable, _a classic._ Zag’s hand drops to his side. Then,

Eyes meet eyes.

Than’s breath stalls in his lungs. The drowsiness Zag wears like a blanket slips off with the widening of his eyes. He turns back into his room, glances at his digital clock. 12:23 a.m. He slaps his cheeks to wake himself up before oh so carefully wedging up his window, muffling the shifting of the pane in its frame. The cold air hits his sleep-warm skin, awakening his senses as he pokes his head out; his hair is down, unstyled, hanging around his face. It sways a little in the night breeze.

“Than?” he hisses as loud as he dares. There’s a hint of concern in his expression as he throws his arms out in a questioning gesture.

Than shrugs in response, his face heating _hot_. He hasn’t done this before; he doesn’t know what to do, so he jerks his chin over his shoulder at his car. Zag’s eyes flit to it, then back to him. He chews his bottom lip, and Than waits for that thing to happen to his face, that thing where it lights up in a smile and blinds him like the sun.

They both know Zag has never been one to back down from a rebellious action, so when Zag steps back from the window and returns dressed in streetwear: sweatpants, a hoodie and sneakers, his loose hair tied back in a little ponytail, it isn’t a surprise. There’s a glint of excitement in his eyes, and then, finally, _finally_ , his face lights up in a mischievous smile.

Than inhales, his lungs filling with oxygen for the first time since Zag appeared, but he quickly loses his breath again when Zag throws his leg over the sill.

Than pushes off his car, hands slipping from his pockets. He knew Zag would come, of that there was no doubt, but what he didn’t know is that Zag would come out his second-story window. His flamed socks dangle bright against the side of his house, his sneakers scuffing the brick, his hands gripping the narrow sill. Than jogs to position himself under Zag, ready to catch when Zag smiles down at him and lets himself drop.

They both grunt as their bodies collide, and they go down together with a thud on grass, Zag landing atop of him, crushing the air from his lungs. Zag grimaces at the fall, at Than beneath him as he rolls off him and at the noise they made in landing. They both freeze, neither of them breathing, just for very, _very_ different reasons. Zag props himself on his elbows and eyes his house—there are grass stains on his sleeves—and he waits for some sign of life, some light to flicker on, while Than wheezes, his lungs stuck on an exhale. Zag is close, a strand of hair tucked behind his ear and Than isn’t sure he could breathe right now anyway.

When no lights turn on in the house, Zag pushes up and rises to his feet. There’s a ripped hole in his sweatpants, grazed skin on his knee and dark blood glistening from the brick, yet still, he smiles that sweet sunshine smile of his, like he doesn’t belong here, _here_ in the dark night, and all Than wants to do is kiss that graze better, lick away the blood; he’d do anything if it meant he could touch.

Than drops his head back against the grass and stares, his lips parting slightly because even from here, even with Zag standing over him, the view is a goddamn addiction. His hair is darkened by the night and there’s an ugly brick wall behind him, but the amber light that falls so warmly on his skin is a shade Than has yet to see on him. And it’s a fix. It’s the only thing he wants injected into his veins. Zag at night. Zag bathed in light. _Zag looking at him like that with his pupils blown wide._

Zag offers him his hand, his palm tilted upwards just so, and here it is, the touches that happen so naturally between them, the touches that makes him go insane, the touches that do things to him he can’t explain. He replays them in slow motion as he lies awake at night; he tries to remember the ghost of warmth where skin meets skin, but no matter how he replicates it, no substitution can smother that torch that’s ignited, burning bright when all he is inside is _darkness._

His body is possessed by this foreign desire, burning him alive. It’s red. It’s hot. It’s Zag offering him his hand, and Than taking it without hesitation, desperate, craving, because he can’t initiate it. Their hands slap together, their grips fitting like gears that work in sync, and it isn’t intimacy because there is a purpose behind it, a reason. Hands are made for working, for doing, for breaking things and fixing them.

Zag’s hand squeezes his, and Zag doesn’t seem to mind the grease that stains Than’s skin as he yanks him to his feet with a force that has Than’s eyes widening and his hair catching in the wind. And this is the reason why Than doesn’t wear gloves when he works on his car; the thick skin on his hands craves to feel something, anything, even if it’s pain. They halt face to face, their hands gripped in the space between their bodies, and Zag’s eyes search his face, his pupils blown wide in the dark.

Their frosted breaths tangle together in the air.

It’s late; he has never seen Zag at this time of night, alone, when the rest of the city is asleep. Neither of them speaks. It could be so easy to lean in, to trip over his feet and press their mouths together, pretend it was an accident. _Oops. I kissed my best friend. Oops. I didn’t hate it._ His eyes fall to Zag’s lips, then dart immediately to the ground. He turns away, his ears heating with the risk of betraying his thoughts, of being caught. His hand pulling from Zag’s grasp is the very last part of him to catch up.

Silently, he rounds his car, opens the door and ushers Zag inside. The boy crawls over the driver’s side so they don’t have to open two doors, and Than slips into the driver’s seat, letting his car door gently close.

The scent of leather fills his nose, along with the deodorant Zag put (too much of) on.

When Zag straps on his seatbelt, Than turns the keys, and the ignition growls. They both wince, barely breathing as his car beeps at him like a ticking bomb because his door isn’t shut properly, but Than takes off anyway. He didn’t come this far just to get caught sneaking out before they get anywhere that matters. He crawls stealthily by Zag’s household with his headlights off until they are out of the danger zone.

They share a breath of relief. Then, coasting along, Than opens his door and shuts up that incessant beeping for good. The headlights snap on, his engine revs, building up to a roar as he takes off for real, tires skidding against the asphalt as he steps on the gas, and goes from zero to sixty in less than five seconds.

Zag shrieks out a laugh, high-pitched and beautiful to his ears. The windows roll down, and the wind howls through the car, sending Zag’s hair flying around his face.

“Oh my gods!” Zag shouts over the engine and the wind. “Than!” His hands slap excitedly against the dash as he turns in his seat to face Than. “I can’t believe we’re sneaking out.” His hands come up to hide his face as he groans and leans back against the door. His hood catches in the wind like a parachute, and strands of his hair disappear out the window. “Dad is so going to kill me when he finds out.” And then he throws his head back and laughs, head hanging half out the window, half tilted forwards to let the wind roll back along his temple.

Than stops looking at the road for only a second at a time; road, Zag, road, Zag, but with every turn he makes, Zag’s expression has shifted to something new. He can’t keep up. All he knows is that it should be illegal for Zag to throw his head back and laugh like that. He’s illuminated by the streetlights flashing by and spilling into the car, and Than feels it in his chest, in the tightening in his gut: this drive would mean nothing without Zag by his side.

Zag raises his head, and Than turns away, focuses intensely on the road. “He won’t know,” he mutters, gripping the wheel tighter. His hands are trembling with nerves and adrenaline. Zag is sitting in his car, and Zag is all his and his alone until the sun rises. “I’ll have you back before dawn.”

Zag gasps. “You’re such a bad influence!” he teases, leaning in until his seatbelt jerks him to halt.

“You didn’t have to come,” Than grumbles, and his lip definitely did not pout. That is just a trick of the light. “I just happened to be in the area.” Anyway, Zag is the one who is the bad influence. Making him take him out like this. He doesn’t even know the effect he has on people.

“Dude, of course, I had to come. This is it, right?” Zag looks over his shoulder into the backseat, out the rear window, then up along the roof to the front dash in an arc. “The car you’ve been working on?”

The car Than has been fine tuning for months with parts he bought with the pay from his part-time job. The car he refused to let Zag see until she was done no matter how Zag nagged him at school every time he browsed a car magazine instead of reading his textbook.

“Yeah,” says Than, mumbling. The blinker clicks in the background as he presses in the clutch and drops a gear with a swift shift of the stick. The wind dies down a fraction as he rounds the corner. He steps on the accelerator before they’ve even finished turning, and their backs press into the seats as the momentum shifts. “Just finished her a little while ago.”

Zag’s eyes light up, Than can feel his stare on his skin, turning numbness into prickling sensation under his jacket sleeves. Zag’s face edges closer in his peripherals; closer and closer. _Too Close._ “Then I’m the first one to see it?” he asks, and there is a hope in his voice that has no right to be there.

Of course, Zag is the first. He doesn’t want anybody else in his car. “Something like that.”

Zag’s eyes grow wider, his teeth beaming in a smile. “Aw, Than. I’m honoured,” he says so earnestly that Than feels his cheeks begin to heat despite the chilly air. “Even if it’s past midnight, and school is gonna be literal hell tomorrow,” he teases and nudges Than in the side, relieving his sincerity with something Than knows how to respond to.

“You sleep during class all the damn time, you deadbeat.”

“Uh-oh.” Zag pouts, puffing out his cheeks. “And here I thought I was being sneaky.”

Than takes one glance and snaps his eyes back to the road. The white lines zooming by become very, very interesting, and he is totally focusing on them instead of the presence in the corner of his vision. “You couldn’t be sneaky even if your life depended on it.”

“And yet, I snuck out of my room,” Zag counters.

“Yeah, by climbing out the window.”

Zag chuckles fondly, and he seems to be about to say something else, but what he ends up saying is, “Well, what about you? Does your mother know you’re out?”

At times like this, Than wishes he could manoeuvre conversations as well as he manoeuvres cars. If he wanted to back up, he could chuck his gears into reverse or do a three-point turn. Heck, he could even leave the rest of the world in the dust and whisk Zag away from everyone else. “She’ll figure it out when she sees the car’s gone.”

“So we’re both out without permission.” Zag grins mischievously. “How rebellious of us.” _Us._ Zag says the word so easily as he props an elbow on the windowsill and looks out at the passing city. He just can’t seem to wipe that grin off his face, and there’s an excited waver to his voice as he asks, “Where are we going?”

Than shrugs, a default response. “Wherever we want,” he says, and the ghost of a smirk appears on his lips as he drives straight through a red light just because it’s night and there are no other cars on the road.

“Than!” Zag reprimands and then ruins the effect by laughing with too much eagerness. “I never knew you were such a rebel.”

He isn’t. It’s all because of Zag that he’s risking a fine like this. It’s always Zag getting him into trouble. It’s always Zag telling him to _live a little_. “Put some music on already,” he deflects.

Zag opens the glove box and searches through the stash of CDs before picking out one he wants to hear and placing in the disc tray. The music player whirs to life as the disc spins, and Than punches the play button and cranks the volume to max. Music blasts through the car contrasting the loneliness of the city at night with a pumped-up beat that has the dash vibrating with the speakers.

The night is cold, and the city is asleep, but Than is burning hot and wide awake. His cheeks are flushed, and his body tingles with the urge to run, to sprint, to shout at the top of his lungs until he’s out of breath. There’s excitement in the air. It’s the buzz of independence that comes with a car; the high of knowing they could go wherever they want; they could drive until dawn, could merge onto the freeway and not stop until they hit the coast. It’s the faith of putting your life in the hands of your best friend because they are the one behind the wheel, and it’s driving fast because you want to show your best friend the freedom that comes with outdriving time—if he drives fast enough, the night will never end.

Their conversation lulls into a silence, replaced by the music, but it’s a silence necessary to appreciate the full experience, the experience of the night, of the vastness of the world when they are the only ones awake.

A nostalgia washes over him as he watches Zag watch the streetlights pass, wind blowing back his hair. It’s reminiscent of those late nights as a kid when he pretended to sleep in the backseat of his mother’s car just to be carried inside. And the night is doing this thing where everything feels that much more real. The urge inside him is craving more. _Blame it on the night,_ it says, because the time between midnight and dawn doesn’t exist; it’s witnessed by nobody at all. _They shouldn’t even be here._

And yet, here they are. Than snaps the steering wheel to the side, and the car drifts around a corner, tires gliding on the asphalt with a screech that drives into his bones. Zag yelps, caught in surprise, and grips onto the door handle, his eyes wide. And Than laughs, _laughs._ The sound is muffled by the music, but Zag sees it clearly in the shifting angle of light that slides up Than’s arms to his nose then shines in his eyes.

The track changes, and Zag’s head bops with the beat. He grips the door handle tight as Than swerves into the opposite lane and back, just because he can, just because nobody is here to tell him he can’t, and because every time he does it, Zag’s smile grows just that much more wild.

It’s freeing in a way daytime isn’t. So when Zag leans his head out his window and yells at the top of his lungs, Than laughs and dares him to do it again, but _louder._ He does, and his holler echo through the concrete expanse, a menace to every person who’s trying to sleep.

Out of breath, Zag settles back in his seat and he’s laughing again, and Than would wreck his voice too and scream at the top of his lungs, scream until the whole city hears, if it meant he could hear Zag’s laugh always like that, smile bright, voice carefree. Their eyes meet, and Than’s smirk falters with the way his heart misfires as the engine slows to cruise along. He can’t seem to kick his body into gear, but he wants to lean in, wants to press his thumb against Zag’s lips and feel his tongue glide across his skin as he licks them like that, wants to press his palm against his throat and feel his Adam’s apple shift as he gulps like that. He shouldn’t be thinking it about his best friend, but Zag just looks too beautiful under the city lights. Like he doesn’t belong in the night.

They drive through the city unhindered, they drift around corners, swerve into the wrong lanes, drive through red lights, and at one point, Than throws his arm over his backrest, turns in his seat and reverses the entire length of a street just because Zag saw a funny-looking stray cat and he wanted a better look.

“Stupid,” Than says when Zag insists he didn’t have to drive all the way back just for a cat. “We have all night.”

And they can spend it however the hell they want. So, they drive until they reach the outskirts of the city where the roads are long, the corners less frequent and the streetlights few and far between. When the terrain turns from flat road to hills, Than pulls over at a bus stop where vending machines stand under a streetlight in the middle of nowhere. The sky is dark. Starless with all the clouds. Thunder rumbles over the nearby mountain, and the nearby mountain looms over them, and it’s them who stand over the cracks in the pavement, their shadows casting over bugs they could squish underfoot, and here they all are, existing in the same moment. Moths flutter around the cool streetlight above, and one hits Than in the face; he waves it away as he strolls to the vending machine. He left his keys in his car and her headlights on so that she’s seen in the night, and Zag follows him out, but Than knows he forgot to grab his wallet when he left his house, so Than buys two drinks and throws the second can at him. It fumbles in Zag’s hands, but he catches it and turns it over, holding it up to the light. _It’s coffee. It’s hot. It’s boy buys boy a drink because he’s oh so addicted._

Than lowers his eyes, fixing his gaze on his coffee as he cracks the can open. Steam rises from his drink. He leans back against the vending machine, and feels its heat radiating through his jacket; it hums low and constant like an engine on a long cruise. Zag’s gaze is on him, intense, always intense; it’s watching him drink, watching the way his throat bobs with each gulp of steamy liquid. Zag has never been afraid to stare. His territory is what he makes it, and he claims everything in it. Claims everything by _touching_ and being _friendly_.

Than’s eyes snap up and he looks at Zag over the aluminium rim. _Hot._ The coffee is hot, burning him up from the inside out as it seeps down his throat and pools in his stomach like molten gold.

Zag’s lips are parted a fraction, the can unopened in his hand, his eyes are on his neck, and the colours of the vending machine reflect on his face, so that Than learns even the blues and purples of advertisements make him look like royalty, tinging the dips in his features and highlighting his perfect bones. Than lowers his coffee from his lips. The streetlight behind Zag casts his shadow onto Than, touching him all over as he hides inside its darkness and imagines that shadow on his hip is Zag’s hand pressing into the sensitive muscle there. _Claiming territory._

Than swallows thickly. He raises a brow, and Zag blinks, eyes snapping up, caught red-handed in the act, but he doesn’t look away, abashed, just cracks opens his can and drinks, staring at Than over the rim, and Than is all up in arms about it. _Does Zag even know he does it?_ That stare; it isn’t quite a challenge, but it feels like it, feels like driving at high speeds, his heart racing in his ribcage, and lord knows neither of them needs caffeine in their system, but the night is late, and the can is here, in their hands, so they drink it in anyway.

“I wish I saw your car before you fixed it up,” says Zag, holding his hand out for Than’s empty can and tossing both into the bin in rapid succession. “I hardly know what to compliment.”

Than scoffs, walking back to his car. “There was nothing to see before. She was a shit-box on wheels. Had to replace her engine, change her exhaust system. New paint job, new tires. All that jazz.” He ducks his head through the driver’s window and pops the hood. “Here,” he says, and Zag follows as he rounds the car and lifts the hood.

Zag stands at his side, his shoulder pressing against his, a heat at his side, separated by hoodie and jacket. Zag with his hair pulled messily into a ponytail shouldn’t be imposing, and yet, here Than stands, his knees trembling in his jeans because he is just so damn nervous about this, whatever this is. He wants too much it’s killing him.

Smother. Smother the spark, but _slowly._

The breeze blows the coconut scent of Zag’s shampoo right into his nostrils; the sweet note conflicts with the cold steel of his deodorant, and Than tightens his grip on the hood, his knuckles turning white as he holds it above their heads. He wants to pull his fingers through that strand of hair framing Zag’s face and drag it nice and slow right under his nose.

He doesn’t bother propping up the hood with the stand; it’s better that at least one of his hands is doing something to a purpose since his other hand is so close to brushing against Zag’s knuckles. If the wind gusts hard enough their fingers could tangle together, or if the streetlight blew out right here, right now, Than could slip his hand under Zag’s and hold it there in the air, and pretend they were really touching, even just for a moment.

Zag looks down at his engine and lets out a breath of awe, and Than watches the puff of frost leave his lips and curl in the air in front of him. He wants to breathe it in. He blinks out of his thoughts when Zag’s hand moves from his side and reaches out to touch his engine just as easily as he touches everything else around him.

Than moves without thinking and grabs Zag’s sleeve. “Careful,” he says. “It’s hot.”

“ _Oh_ …” Zag blinks. “Right.” He rubs the nape of his neck with his other hand and gingerly lowers the one Than restrains to his side.

Than still has his sleeve pinched between a thumb and finger, and it’s the only thing going through his mind. Zag’s sleeve. Him touching. His fingers. On something that is touching Zag. It plays on loop even as Zag admits sheepishly, “Sorry, I don’t really know that much about cars. Not that they aren’t cool, or anything like that, just you know what the old man is like about me spending money.” Zag gestures wildly with one hand while the one Than holds the sleeve of stays frozen at his side.

And it’s not just Zag’s stare that feels like driving at high speeds, but it’s being with Zag in general. His heart is racing, the world around him is a blur, his senses are hyperfocused tunnel vision. It’s an out of body experience where every little thing is processed and evaluated, turned over in his mind and deconstructed. Time goes in slow motion and yet he can’t grab ahold of anything meaningful because he is in so head over heels. Every little flutter of Zag’s eyes, that blush on his cheeks, the shoulder pressing into his, makes him overheat. A sleeve, but not Zag’s hand. There is a line that keeps him in his lane, but that shoulder leans into him like it doesn’t know the rules, like it has a right to be there. And Than can only think it has a right to be there. His mouth is dry, _so dry_. He licks his lips. He could do it. Stage Two of his plan. All he needs to do is tell him how he feels. To drive him through the night. To say those three words.

“You worked so hard for this car,” Zag’s rambling continues, “and you got your license, first try too. You’re amazing, Than. I mean, I already knew you were, but we haven’t even finished school and already you can driv—” Zag finally shuts up when Than breathes out in a desperate rush,

“I’ll teach you.”

Zag’s teeth clack shut, and Than looks resolutely down, he’s pinching Zag’s sleeve so tight he loses feeling entirely. But there, he said it, and now he can’t hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears.

It’s all downhill from here.

“Teach me?” echoes Zag; he looks at him, searches Than’s face, taken aback. Than is only distantly aware of the sounds coming from his mouth, but the tone sets him on edge, and the feeling of Zag’s eyes on him sets his whole body aflame.

Than grits his teeth and releases Zag’s sleeve. His arm holding up the hood trembles elusively. It was a mistake. He read the situation wrong. Why would Zag want to be taught to drive by someone who just got their license? Why is he acting all arrogant just because he has a car and can drive it?

Than panics and slams the hood of his car shut. Zag jumps at the sound, jerking back as he’s nearly taken out with it, but all Than can think is that he wants to run, outrun this feeling overtaking him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and turn on his heels, but Zag catches the crook of his elbow in a tight grip and the spark that zaps him at the contact arcs through his every limb. His body obeys the touch, his mind wiped in that instant of everything that isn’t Zag’s strong hand on him. It’s impossible for him to pull away from this feeling.

“To drive?” asks Zag. His voice borders on an emotion Than can’t quite comprehend when his mind is entering DEFCON levels, but Zag’s hand knows what it wants; it slides up Than’s bicep and squeezes his muscle there. “In _your_ car?”

Oh, _gods._ He planned for this, but he didn’t plan for _this._ This _feeling_ bursting within him. The possessiveness that comes with owning a car; he’s begging Zag to drive her, and it makes him feel oh so seen. _Here, drive. Here are the keys. Choose my destination at a whim and control where my life ends. Just keep me by your side for as long as it takes._

Than averts his gaze, keeps his eyes resolutely down. He grips his keys in his palm tight. Tight enough to leave a red indent in his palm. He nods. And Zag laughs, and the music of it resonates in the night for him and him alone. He forgets to stop squeezing his keys when he draws them out of his pocket, forgets to let them go when he hands them over. Zag hooks his finger in the hanging keyring and tugs his heart right out of his grasp in one swift motion. The keys loop around his finger, jangling in the arc they spin.

In a daze, Than walks to the driver’s side before realizing his mistake and going all the way around to the passenger’s seat like a walk of shame. It’s all reversed, sitting on this side of his car. It’s so spacious without the gauges but so confining without the wheel. Zag buckles on his seatbelt and releases as a shuddering breath as he looks over the dash, blinks at the gauges, overwhelmed, but never overwhelmed for long. He locates the ignition, and for a boy who claimed not to know much about cars, he turns the key with an ease that comes naturally. The spark it releases ignites the fuel in the chamber and bursts into gaseous flame as the accelerator revs under Zag’s foot. Obeying at a single touch. Claimed like his territory. The music blasts on, startling them both, so Than mutes the volume and leans over the centre console to switch the headlights on and for the briefest moment their shoulders brush.

“Uh…” Zag’s hand hovers in the air, at a loss for how to begin. And this is it, the purpose he needs. Than braces his arm against the backrest of the driver’s seat, leans over Zag’s shoulder, careful not to touch him, and points to the gauges. Their cheeks are close, he feels the heat radiating from him, and a strand of Zag’s hair tickles his ear. It doesn’t count if there’s a purpose. And if Zag’s scent is making him dizzy this close and enclosed, it cannot be helped.

“That’s your speed,” he says, strictly informative when his voice is close enough to lick the shell of the other boy’s ear. “That’s your revs. You shift up a gear when it hits roughly 3,000 RPMs.” He can’t feel Zag breathing next to him, but he can’t feel much of anything with how focused he is on ignoring the closeness of their bodies while he explains the car mechanics. And that is all he’s doing. Explaining the car’s mechanics.

Than pulls away when he runs out of things to say and resettles in the passenger’s seat. Only then does he dare a look at the boy next to him. The boy he’d been avoiding all eye contact in the last few minutes. Zag keeps his eyes fixed on the gauges as though taking a moment to process all the information. Then, assimilating the process, he presses the clutch in just as Than had explained and shifts the stick into what Zag thinks is first gear because he looks up, unsure.

“Yeah, that one,” Than assures him. There’s a delicacy in each of Zag’s movements as though he’s afraid he’ll break the car if he is too rough, as though he’s intent of cherishing her despite just having met her. And he is concentrated, oh so concentrated, there’s that pinch in his brow, here’s that press of his lips. Zag obeys his directions easily, nodding eagerly, but when Than releases the handbrake and Zag steps on the accelerator, the car promptly stalls, jerking them both forward in their seats.

“Sorry!” Zag squeaks and his face goes a vibrant shade of red in the dimness.

Than turns red as well but only because that reaction is going too far. It’s just a car, and she’s not going to tell anyone Zag stalled her the first time he tried to drive. “S’fine,” he says, voice barely above a mumble. “You just released the clutch too fast. Ease off it.”

“Right. Ease off. Got it.” Zag nods once, restarts the car, and Than sees his opportunity; that is what this night is all about. _Taking_ opportunities. _Living_ a little. So in a bold display, as though possessed by this obsessive addiction, Than places his hand on Zag’s thigh, just this side of his knee, and when Zag tenses, he hastens to explain his purpose. He isn’t just touching because he wants to touch! _Never. He wouldn’t_. There is always a reason. _A reason, yeah_. “Like this.” He squeezes Zag’s thigh and mimics the slow release of the clutch as he eases the pressure of his splayed fingers pressing into muscle. Zag swallows, and the noise is audible in the quiet between their breaths. “Try it,” Than says, pulling back his hand, but Zag catches it and pulls it back to his thigh.

“You know I won’t get this first try,” Zag says with that little smirk of his that makes Than feel that much dizzier. Surely, he knows. Surely, he’s messing with him? “I’ll just match your timing until I get it right.”

Than stops feeling anything at all, there’s too much of it in this moment, the _feelings_. His hand on Zag’s thigh feels numb, like it isn’t connected to his arm, like Zag has stolen it, claimed it simply by one touch just like he does everything else, but when Zag goes to try again and pushes in the clutch, Than still squeezes and releases in time with the motion. The car takes off with a bumpy start and an aggressive rev of her engine but they’re moving even if it’s at turtle speed and the mechanics are working in sync, and Zag’s laugh is the fuel that keeps his hand on his thigh and tells him to shift into second gear with a voice that sounds far more composed than he feels.

“Show me,” Zag insists through a grin, and Than did not plan for this. He is so lost, so caught up, so lead around by the nose. He isn’t even in control of his body when he places his other hand over Zag’s hand on the stick and guides him to second gear. It isn’t a smooth transition by any means, but the car doesn’t stall. And it’s a surprise it worked at all with how rigid Than’s body is.

Inside the car, the gauges glow orange, reflecting warmth onto Zag’s face. The road ahead is all white lines and guardrails keeping them in their lane, but it isn’t the road that lures him into a trance; it’s the muscle contracting and relaxing underneath his hand; it’s the way these knuckles fit so well in the junction between his fingers and palm, and the way their fingers are interlocked like lovers holding hands. Zag’s body is like a furnace running warm from his smile right down to his fingertips. Warm like the coals smoldering in Than’s gut.

He has gone far enough, has touched too much, but Zag is still learning, he doesn’t yet have control of the car, and it isn’t touching if there’s a purpose, and anyway Zag doesn’t seem to mind that his hands are all over him, so there’s that.

Zag drives them up the curved and lonely mountain roads, and outside the window, rain starts to drizzle, speckling the windscreen like tiny starts and leaving hot glitter on the asphalt. It becomes a little heavier before stopping altogether, leaving them with a glistening road and the occasional flash of lightning as they climb to the summit, closer and closer to the sky. The turns are generous, long and sweeping and tender to a rookie driver, so there really is no need to stop and start repeatedly, gear shifts are almost unnecessary and yet Than’s hands don’t return to his own body. He forgot to put on his seatbelt, but doing so now would mean letting go, and if he lets go, how will he grab ahold again? Impossible. He’d rather die than give up this moment.

The car fills with silence under the purring of the engine where every inhale can be counted and every exhale is too loud; it’s smothering if only because he is so conscious of every breath he takes and how it’s all filled with Zag’s scent.

He keeps his eyes, like Zag’s, on the road ahead. There’s a shake to his hands that he hopes Zag doesn’t notice because he can’t explain the way touching Zag ignites a fuse inside him. He hardly sees the trees they pass, loses count of the guardrails separating them from the cliffside after one, and there are no streetlights this high up to phase him in and out of reality in regular bursts. Zag grows more confident, and their hands on the stick shift in sync as the engine begs for a higher gear. Than controls his car through Zag’s body as though he is an extension of himself, and if he is, it’s his favourite part. It works best like this, connecting, two parts of a machine. But Than knows his control only extends over the car and her metal. _Nothing living._

Than also knows the journey cannot go on forever, they cannot outrun time for long. The road comes to an end, high on the summit. Zag pulls off to the side of the road and stalls the car crooked on the small patch of gravel that is the parking lot of the lookout. The headlights go off, throwing them into darkness, and the darkness inside the car opens onto the darkness of the world outside. The air on the mountain is fresh, cold and crisp, hitting him on the face, not the gasoline warmth of streetlights and car drives. Than stalks towards the guardrail, walking fast to escape the heat of the car. He shoves his hands in his pockets like they are his most treasured possession, like if he keeps them warm, he can save the feeling of hot blood under his skin.

Zag follows him into the cold night. The car keys, _his_ keys, are in Zag’s hand and they look so good there, the skull keychain compliments the flames on his socks, he doesn’t know how but it does, and the night does this thing to him where he imagines a tender smile in the shadow of Zag’s lips or a glint of desire in his eyes that would never exist in the day when the light is bright and every detail is clear.

“Hey, Than, that was really—” Zag’s voice trails off, and his quick strides slow to a stop as he reaches Than and looks at the city beyond, at all its thousands of brilliant lights networking across the dark like a raging wildfire from here to the horizon, shining so bright that the clouds swollen above reflect its glow as they roll across the sky like waves. This is their home; this is where they grew up. Where they met, that school somewhere to the left, or where they spend their afternoons, that arcade hidden behind one of those concrete buildings. You can’t see them from here, but he knows they are there. It’s part of who he is. A knowledge that lives on in his memory.

Than steps over the guardrail that marks the beginning of the sloping cliffside and leans back against its metal, eyes fixed on the view. The grass is long and thin, climbing up his boots to leave seeds on his laces. Zag, naturally, finds his place next to him. The keys jingle where they are held clasped in Zag’s hands as they rest in his lap. Than doesn’t ask for them back. His hands are still in his pockets, and it’s safer that way because even in the dark, even with the rolling thunder veiling the moonlight, Zag is visible; this close, he practically glows, radiates that heat he carries everywhere with him, the heat that always has him craving to move closer, lean in, feel the summer.

_Live._

There’s an arm’s length between them. Zag stares at the city, but Than can’t help but stare at him; the glint in his eyes is more mesmerizing than a thousand cities and all their thousand lights combined. And the way his hair drifts in the gentle breeze is _too real_ , the way his nose curves down like that and greets his Cupid’s bow, lips parting for a ghost’s breath of awe, _illegal_. He should be fined for being so distracting, for pulling his eyes away from the road, away from the city, away from literally anything that isn’t him. He could cause a crash by walking down the street and turn around and smile like the sun in the following minute, _oblivious._ And as though to prove that very point, Zag breathes, “It’s so beautiful,” and Than’s thoughts screech to a halt.

For the safety of others, he should be more aware of himself. But yeah, he agrees. It’s beautiful, so beautiful, the kind of beauty you could never catch in a photo, the beauty of the moment, of the living, the fleeting, the feeling of _this will never happen again like this_ ; it’s a once in a lifetime, a car crash in reverse. It’ll be different tomorrow when the sun is up; it’ll be different on a weekend when they have permission to be out, but Zag will still be beautiful, and this fire inside him will still be blazing through its fuel, consuming every nerve, every thought until he can’t take it anymore.

And then the thought hits him, like the glass shattering from the crash and slowly piecing itself back into some semblance of a window. How is he supposed to go back to normal after seeing him like this, at night, after driving his car to the mountain top and holding his keys in his hands like they are something to be treasured? How can Zag sit here and treasure something that isn’t meant to last? Soon those keys will return to him. Soon high school will be at an end. What if Zag leaves for college, goes to a bigger city, a better city, one where you can’t see the end from a summit like this? What if it’s too far for him to drive to? What if it’s across a sea? What if nothing changes, they both stay here, but they get busy, _too busy_ , him with work, Zag with whatever he chooses to do, and they slowly drift apart, their friendship fading away. _Zag? Yeah, I knew him once. We went to school together. Were we close? Yeah, but that was a long time ago, I hardly now him now._

He has nothing to keep Zag by his side except a car with a passenger’s seat that has his name on it. How many nights can he steal him away like this? They are surely numbered, _limited edition._ It’s terrifying to think, but Zag’s lips have been moving for a while now, his teeth flashing through a smile like the white lines on a road, his voice low and soft the hum of an engine, his eyes the windows that steals his breath away when he looks directly into them.

“Than?” Zag slides closer on the rail, close enough that their thighs almost touch. Zag’s hand rests in the only space between them, his shoulder turned to face him as he leans a little forward with his head tilted just so, trying to see his face, a little strand of hair falls forward and sways, and all at once, Than feels too much, so much that he becomes dizzy with where to look. The air around him stills as though the storm herself holds her breath, but the stillness is charged, _galvanized;_ surely the oxygen will catch a spark if he moves too fast, if he breathes at all.

Zag’s pupils are blown wide in the dark and they’re looking at him. Than’s body trills with the urge to pull back, to retreat. Zag is so close, too close, he doesn’t know what will happen when he isn’t in control, and oh, _oh,_ he hasn’t said anything, what was Zag saying? What was the question? His mind races, but all he can think is that beyond those lips, down his throat, into his chest, that’s his destination, the organ pumping there, powering his body and making him _alive._ Alive in the way Than cannot understand. And all it would take is for him to lean in a little more. And he could do it. Lean in and taste it. This so called _life._ Zag is right here, radiating heat, and he wants an end of the road, one where they end up on a mountain _together,_ appreciating the view _together_. And it could be Stage Three now, the stage he’d never expected to reach, though he dares and dares in the dark hours of sleep. He knows he shouldn’t push his luck, shouldn’t taint this memory black, but _look at him, look at him now!_ The urge inside him screams. He’s so beautiful and it’s killing him that he doesn’t know what to do with these feelings. _Risk it all. Risk everything you’ve worked for._

A flash of lightning overhead. His heart thundering in his chest. And a drop of rain, fat and heavy, splatters on his cheek and makes him blink. A ting on the guardrail. A thud on the centre of his head, then patters on the roof of his car. Stealing the moment away from him. He’s losing it. Time is catching up; he can’t outrun it any longer. It’s now or never. It’s the call. Just lean in and steal one memory for yourself. And he can do it. Steal, if he wants. He’s already out here in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night when he would never do this alone. Who knows what he is capable of just to get Zag to himself. So he inches forward, and it feels like the rewind has been put in play, just in slow motion. Here he is swerving headfirst into an oncoming truck, here is that feeling, that fright, body rigid, heart skipping, and here is the impact, the sudden jerk to a halt when Zag looks up and holds up a palm to catch the odd drops as they fall through the foliage above. It’s glass shattering around him. Reality crashing down on his shoulders like the rain that starts to pour.

Zag smiles at him apologetically, as if he has anything to apologize for. _Sorry, I have to leave the view, sorry, this is over so soon, or sorry, I just didn’t want to kiss you._ Does he know? Was it obvious? The questions bullet down on him like the pelting rain ricocheting through his skull. What if Zag is relieved the rain fell when it did? Relieved for an excuse to leave things how it is? Maybe he should be relieved too, if the rain means they don’t have to talk about what just happened, they could just forget, it’s a trick of the night, it’ll wash away with the sludge that slips down the mountain, _the city was so beautiful; yeah, maybe you were too, hard to tell at three in the morning which is which, it doesn’t mean anything anyway on a night drive to nowhere; we weren’t even there, remember?_

“Oi, you’ll get soaked!” Zag calls from the car door, he’s already jumping inside, slamming the door shut on the rain, sealing himself off. Than can barely see him through the downpour, the drops splashing into his eyes and turning his vision blurry with water, and that sting behind his eyes isn’t tears, but if he did let out a few in frustration, nobody would ever know the difference.

The rain freezes him to the bone as he walks to the car. He slams the door shut behind him and shivers in the driver’s seat. It’s warmer in the car, but he’s close, stuck so close. Gods, why did he try to kiss him when they still have to drive home? Water drips from his hair onto his thighs, his hair is plastered to his forehead, over his eyes, and a drop rolls down the back of his neck, under his clothes and trickles down his spine like a cold sweat. It’s quiet inside the car, like disappointment, like fear; sound is drowned out by the assaulting rain, so at least he doesn’t have to hear whatever Zag has to say. It was good while it lasted, the view, their friendship, his general existence. Maybe if he got out now and ran, Zag would be able to drive himself home, he knows the basics.

Than peels his drenched jacket from his body. His turtleneck sweater underneath is only a little damp, adding a layer of warmth but stripping him of his precious pockets. He throws the jacket in the back and it lands in a wet heap. Zag jangles the keys in his face, and oh, _oh,_ they are driving home, he has to drive, and they aren’t going to talk about it. He’s going to drive back, and everything will return to normal when the sunrises. He’ll go to school tomorrow and Zag will sling his arm over his shoulder and he’ll have to say, _Yeah, it was fun. Yeah, we should do it again sometime,_ when all he wants to do is forget. He doesn’t want to deal with Zag being his pretty self within kissing distance and know he can never have that, ever.

He pulls the keys from Zag’s fingers, and all of a sudden, the weight of leaving hits him. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to go back to reality. Back to smothering these feelings. He should stop it here, snuff out the fire burning inside him because something has to give. _Something has to give._ He can’t stand by and watch this friendship slowly fade into a distant memory when the torch inside him burns so fiercely like a beacon waiting and waiting for a returning signal.

The sound of Zag buckling his seatbelt jerks him out of his head. He slots the key into the ignition on instinct, his body foreign, betraying him; it’s out of his control. It’s like he’s watching himself, a spectator in the back seat as he goes through the motions: turn the key, switch on the headlights.

Rain streams down the windscreen in amber rivulets, glistening in the light that sunders the dark night before a wiper pushes it away, again and again, an endless battle for control. The water falls, so you wipe it away, but that only stops the water for a moment’s reprieve, and if you forget to wipe even for an instant then _look_ you’re inundated, _look_ you can’t see anything but a warped reality, better catch up quick. Too bad the water doesn’t drown the fire inside of him, just turns it to steam.

And he knows the moment he pulls the handbrake, the illusion will be over, time will have caught up. This drive will take him back home, back to waking up each morning and wishing he spent the night sleeping instead of scheming various plans he would never go through with. Than places one hand on the wheel but he can’t, _he can’t_. He doesn’t want this night to end. He doesn’t want to go back. What if they drift apart? What if one day he has to find out from a stranger that Zag is already married? Or worse, what if they stay friends, _best friends,_ and he’s the best man at Zag’s wedding pretending to be happy for him?

He’d rather break it trying to take it all for himself.

He switches off the ignition, and the car rumbles down. The headlights stay on, the gauges still shine at him, but his hands fall idly in his lap. No matter how much his car wants to drive, she can’t move without a driver. “I don’t want to drive,” he says, loud enough to hear over the rain. It’d be dangerous, anyway. He wouldn’t be able to see clearly. Yeah. Dangerous. See. Nothing like what he’s doing now when he turns to Zag and looks in his eyes as they glitter like the rain on the track that could make his tires aquaplane.

Than repeats his words but slower, and Zag should understand because Zag understands him, Zag gets him, that is why they work so well, he never has to put what he wants into words; Zag always figures it out, so he should figure this out too, why can’t he figure this out too? Zag chews his bottom lip and the rain that batters down on the roof does nothing to drown out the silence dragging on.

“You want to stay longer?” Zag ventures. And _yes, gods yes_. He wants to stay, right here. Freeze time, he doesn’t want the future. He just wants now. Just here. Just once. Than leans in slowly and unbuckles Zag’s seat belt. The strap reels back behind the seat for a moment that feels like an eternity of being seen through. If Zag wants to pull away, he can, he should. Their faces are close, but Than’s eyes are turned down. He braces a hand on the centre console as though here is the line he cannot cross. He cannot leave his lane. He drags his eyes up Zag’s body. He is drenched from the rain too, hoodie soaking up all the wet. He can already imagine the droplets clinging to his lashes like jewels and rolling down his temples like pearls to pool in the curve of his lips, and it’s his lips Than’s eyes snag on. Their close, so close. If he were breathing right now, Zag would taste his breath, and friends don’t lean in so close they could almost kiss, friends don’t breathe all over other friend’s lips, and friends shouldn’t think he is so kissable, right here, in his passenger’s seat. Friends don’t do that. But there is water pooled in the narrow seam between Zag’s lips and Zag hasn’t wiped it away, so Than should wipe it away for him, with his _lips_ , before he’s inundated with these _feelings,_ because that’s what friends do, they help each other when in need.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, so quiet it’s almost inaudible under the rain or is that cacophony the blood rushing in his ears?

A tongue darts over Zag’s lips, and the water’s gone replaced by a thin sheen of spit, but Zag doesn’t tell him to stop, and Than doesn’t feel like stopping on his own now that he’s come this far, so he leans in and presses his lips onto his mouth, and it’s so warm, so soft, flesh alive and running hot like a fever. Than scrunches his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to look at the shock on Zag’s face because he isn’t moving. Shouldn’t he be moving? He is supposed to be the fire raging wild, not frozen cold, rigid as stone. It is unexpected, _gods, it is unexpected._ It’s a mistake; he’s ruined it all, and all for what? A stolen kiss. Chaste as it is. It’s always him doing the taking. He takes and takes and never gives and still it isn’t enough. Why can’t he just be satisfied with what Zag gives?

Than pulls away. He averts his eyes down and to the side. The water running down the windscreen is suddenly so fascinating, it’s stolen his breath, made his face burst into flames. He wants to disappear, vanish into thin air without a trace like the lightning that appears for an instant, but instead, he’s stuck here in this car with the one person he wants to disappear from, and he can’t breathe, it’s like that water is in his lungs, scorching him as it turns to steam, and Zag is looking at him, mouth opened around the silent words that have no air to be voiced.

Than turns his head away but Zag catches his cheek in his palm and guides his face back to him, and oh, _oh,_ his hand is burning, his cheek is burning, he’s a fever going on delirium, and then Zag kisses him, whole on the lips, and he must be hallucinating because it’s soft, it’s heat, molten, melting, yielding against him. And his eyes are wide open but he cannot see, and Zag’s are scrunched shut but he’s concentrating so hard, and when Than’s heart kick-starts it’s rapid-fire rhythm anew, his eyes flutter closed and he makes a strangled noise of need because here’s the boy he cannot touch, touching him, here’s the boy he cannot kiss, kissing him. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s his hand grabbing a fistful of Zag’s hoodie and holding on for dear life.

He pulls Zag in by his hoodie until their chests meet, and he feels the pumping of a heart but whose? It’s all drowned out by the kiss like his thoughts, and he can’t find it in himself to care at all. There’s only the heat of a body hot against his, the taste of lips, sweeter than a stolen kiss, and he knows he never really wanted to take but give. To sling his arm around Zag’s shoulder as easily as he does to him. To tuck that strand of hair that always falls down his temple behind his ear. The touches he never permits himself to return without a purpose; it’s all here, it’s all now. He doesn’t know how to kiss but he sure can try. So it’s clumsy, it’s messy, too much teeth, not enough in sync, but he places a hand on Zag’s shoulder and that is _progress_ , and Zag hasn’t pulled away yet, so that is _success_ , and Zag’s hand finds its way to his hip and he can no longer think about anything but _him_.

It’s shuddery breaths like the pattering of rain on glass, and flames licking at his gut like the ignition lighting up fuel, and they kiss each other until they tire, until their kisses become a different kind, slow and languid like a summer road trip to the beach, too many times broken by a smile. Than peppers kisses over Zag’s dimples like jewel drops of rain, and when he finally pulls back, the windows are fogged from the heat of their bodies. The rain has long since stopped, but when exactly, neither could care to tell. They couldn’t care less about the rain, or anything outside this car.

“Wow,” says Zag breathily, his cheeks are rosy, and his eyes are lowered; the back of his palm wipes his mouth demurely.

Than hides his face in his own sleeve so Zag doesn’t see his cheeks erupt in heat all over again. He doesn’t want to look at all that surprise in Zag’s eyes that shouldn’t even be there. Of course, Than would want to kiss him, who in their right mind wouldn’t? But Zag just laughs, an airy soft sound, and the angry protests on his tongue die with the awe that fills his lungs and makes him laugh as well.

He laughs until it turns into a wince, because oh my god, he really did that. He really kissed Zag, and Zag kissed him back, and it doesn’t feel real, and there’s no one awake to bear witness, but his car smells like Zag and his car will still smell like Zag tomorrow, and maybe, just maybe, they will kiss again, in the day time next, when the sun is high to witness. And if Than drives a little faster than necessary on their way home, if he drifts a little around the corners, or goes through the red lights, high on his victory that is more than a little surreal, it isn’t because he’s showing off, but because the night is coming to a close and he is racing the dawn because they stayed out too long. 

His good mood lasts until he pulls up at Zag’s house, Zag’s father is waiting for them at the door, arms crossed.

“Oh, drat,” says Zag, rubbing the back of his neck as he throws him a crooked smile and gets out of the car to face his approaching father. “Well, see you tomorrow Than, or today, I guess. Later?”

“Later…” Than says lamely, cursing himself for keeping Zag out so late and oh, gods, he’s ruined it all. “It isn’t his fault,” he calls out at Zag’s father with his head out the window. “I’m the one who—”

“Do not be hasty, Thanatos,” says Zag’s father tersely. “You will not escape your dues. Your mother will see to that. She was, after all, the one who called me to let me know.”

Than grimaces. He’s going to be in so much trouble for this. Especially for taking Zag out as well. He looks to Zag with apologetic eyes, but Zag just shrugs and strolls to his house with a wave over his shoulder. Than drops his head against the wheel and groans.

He makes the dreaded journey home and receives the yelling of a lifetime for his trouble. But he can’t find it in himself to regret it. He’s still high on the adrenaline. And he’d do it all over again even if he knew this was how the night would end. It’s worth it, no matter the punishment.

“You are banned from driving for a month,” says his mother as he drags his dirty boots through the door.

Than winces.

It was worth it, he tells himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch a sleepy hypnos saying ‘woaaah’ from his blanket bundle.
> 
> I just started a [twitter](https://twitter.com/apricot_saint) so if you like my writing come holler at me and/or follow <3


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